Made back in 1883, this 143 year old machine is back to work for me after a little tlc, can't wait to see what magic is left inside of it!

No one knows who made it!

Rate my staff. Any recommendations from fellow battlemages for perfecting my staff?

None of my scrolls say anything about this, so I'm going here. Would it be unethical if I make one of my prop firearms into a magic wand? I really only wanted to do it so I can have a party trick to pull out at some point. You know, "oh look, I have a gun, but oh what's this, I just lit a candle by casting fireball" type stuff. I was curious if there are any laws that stipulate that I cannot do that.

I was growing crystals to see if I can make something powerful to use in magic items. While some came out pretty good with some being duds one is great at shocking anything anything it hits. The drawback is that it is rather heavy and unwieldy. While I could just gave it to an apprentice and say cast Bull's strength on yourself and get good I thought I could do better. So with the help of dwarves who made huge armor made from Baatorian Green Steel (I had to bribe them in gems to just get them work with it) and an artificer to make the gears and other stuff to make it move. I provided the power source which was an attempt to make a spelljamming helm.

Because of how it is powered only magic users can use this armor and the user is not going to casting spells themself but now the crystal can be used in battle and a wizard is very well protected from attacks. When not in battle the wizard can lift and move heavy objects. This is still in prototype stage but I think I am on to something.

The wizard Bi-raomar was made with the Neverwinter Nights toolkit and the power armor and crystal was made by me using a paint program.

this has been long overdue. ask me anything you want to any character of mine or just to me. preferably state who your speaking to.

thanks yall!

The following is a letter written by Caul of Belagrad, Forgemaster of the Darkwatch. This is an unreleased internal document, and a personnal one at that. Only the Forgemaster and the Shadow Marshall are aware of its existence and contents.

------------------

It is with great angst and a heavy conscience that I commit these thoughts and findings to the paper. Perhaps it should serve as some form of solace, however minimal, the fact that this report and notes will, most likely, never see the light of day or curse another's eyes, for what lies in these pages depict an evil so great I shudder to even recall. Still, duty and responsibility compels me to write this piece, which was, regardless of its nature, long overdue, given my position in this organization. The summary and formal, objective document, which is (or at least should be) the norm will be attached in a separate envelope, for the care of the Head Archivist. This one, however, I write as a more personal letter, to you, Shadow Marshall, so that I can explain my rationale and try my best to convey the importance of my recommendations and for you to understand what it entails should these fail.

I have honoured and served my position from the very moment of my induction at the Darkwatch, taking care of and studying artifacts of magical or supernatural origin or those affected by such forces, developing new tools, weapons and procedures to ensure the safety and improve the capabilities of our staff, from Sentinel to Vigil, and should they feel particularly inclined to use it, even the other Division Heads and above. These artifacts often possess a strange property which requires some level of research and even experimentation in order to properly harness it or safely contain the threat, should it pose any. I know that you are well aware of all of these facts, and I am only reinforcing the statement to convey my feelings towards the Object I will, in the upcoming paragraphs, discuss.

I am uncertain whether I should attribute the sequence of events that led to this Object coming into my custody to a misfortune of fate, the consequences of our meddling in that pointless clash between a self proclaimed “God-Emperor” and the ever expanding threat of the colonialist Thrakmerian nation or simply a cruel joke by whatever entities exist beyond our realities, in narratives above our own (the concept of which I have already explained in a previous exchange). Regardless, it would be most inappropriate and irresponsible if I were to let my feelings get in the way of my duty, so I pushed forward with the project. And so, the accursed Obsidian Blade of the infamous 13th Black Mage of Thrakmoor was recovered during the events that led to his capture by our Chief Archeologist. While I was not present to witness such confrontation, I have read accounts that describe vaguely what transpired, and they do indeed paint a rather grim picture of the capabilities of said blade. Still, I had to try to reproduce the effects described in order to better understand how and why they occurred. My findings on the subject are the main focus of this letter.

The first details I noticed upon preliminary observations are its distinct colour, odd proportions and the obvious fractured blade. It also emanates some sort of aura, or presence; I am uncertain if that is indeed the case or if it is just a sensation incurred by knowing the Object’s history. More thorough analysis reveals that it is, at least currently, around 80cm in length, with the blade itself measuring about 65cm. It is roughly 8cm wide at the base of the blade, tapering down to around 5-6cm at the starting point of the shattering (I must confess that my hand was trembling a bit while taking the exact measurements. Whether this was due to said aura or just mere stress remains unknown). It has been broken in an uneven pattern, roughly divided in three distinct sections; the first, and shortest side ending just shy of the 57cm mark in one of the edges. The second, middle section which comprises the spine of the blade cuts at about the 61cm mark. Finally, the opposite edge runs uninterrupted up to the 65cm in length previously mentioned. This odd shape indicates that the sword should be, and in fact was, longer than its current form, and has been broken in some sort of confrontation prior to its retrieval. This pattern is consistent with what happens when a blade suffers great strain unevenly across its body, most likely due to an off strike or parry, or even a torsion of the blade, most common in bindings and wrestles. Given the proportions of the remaining blade, the length of the hilt, the unusual point of balance and the width of the cross-guard, I would assume it to be originally a hand-and-a-half type of sword, colloquially known as a “bastard” sword, meaning it would have a longer blade and a hilt fitted for either a one-handed or a two-handed grip. If this sword was solely used by the 13th, it would indicate that he is either a skilled swordsman, good enough to have endured and prevailed in serious combat despite his weapon being damaged, or instead that he is rather careless or untrained as to let such a blade come to this sorry state.

The blade is made from a material visually similar to standard obsidian, however, unlike its volcanic counterpart, this one still behaves like a metal and is not as brittle as the comparison would suggest. It is, however, abnormally sharp and seems to be able to cut through all forms of materials I tested it against, from wood and cutting mattresses all the way to enchanted plate armour, a solid block of 1 cubic meter of steel and even the golems provided by that so-called Scriptomancer (whatever that is) with little to no resistance, which feels like an insult to the laws of nature. In fact, the only form of feedback I felt was when testing it against magically protected objects, such as the armour or golems mentioned, and even then, it was more like what one would feel when trying to slice a head of cabbage with a perfectly sharpened katana. I was rather irritated by this observation; most likely I would have felt less disturbed should it have produced some sort of violent reaction instead of the complete disregard for the physics that dictate our reality. This is rather worrisome as it means there is very little we can do to protect our agents should this kind of weapon be common among the Thrakmerian ranks. If you ever find yourself facing an opponent armed with something like this, I advise forgoing any sort of blocking and clashing and instead try to avoid and dodge it at all costs.

Speaking of enchanted amour, I have observed that, after coming into contact with the Object, said armour seemed to lose its magical properties. At first I attributed this phenomenon to the fact that the piece was destroyed by the blade, however, after further testing with numerous forms of enchantments, materials and conditions, I have discovered that the blade seems to dispel any kind of magic it touches. This effect actually seems to be in an area around the obsidian blade, extending roughly in a 90 centimeter diameter from its spine. I noticed this behaviour when, as I first held it, my left arm and torso began to ache and to lose sensibility, akin to when I am exposed to an anti-magic field. As you are well aware, I am rather sensitive to anti-magic, since almost half of my body only seems to be functioning due to arcane forces. As such, I requested assistance from some of my most trusted associates, namely my second in command, Shadow Vigil Anwen Leviere, and Head of Energy Research, Viktor Schweirze. I must add that their input was crucial in the understanding of the Object’s capabilities, as I will now describe.

Ms Leviere, being a specialist in Transmutation and a skilled Abjurer, proved essential in making a rather curious finding. When I mentioned how it is capable of slicing through basically any object (I am purposefully avoiding stating “all materials” since it is virtually impossible to test every known substance and alloy given how many there are) and that it dispels magic it comes into contact with, she noticed that, while it was able to dispel and revert any transmutation powered by her, it seemed to have no effect on previously transmuted objects. After a few more attempts, she formulated a theory that the blade was not undoing the changes made by her, but rather that it was cutting and leeching the mana flow from her person to the target, which made it impossible to stabilize and complete the spell, and thus, making it revert to its original state. This theory proved to be true, as anything that was struck while being transformed had its form reverted, but that which has already been changed and the spell completed seemed to keep its new properties. In summary, the blade seems to be able to absorb the mana powering an enchantment or spell, but since the transmuted items were no longer being “fed” mana, they were not affected. This also means that it basically “ate” whatever ward or protective spell was enveloping the target (while this discovery troubled all of us a great deal, Ms Leviere seemed to have been particularly distressed. She expressed her frustration, as an Abjurer, at seeing all of her attempts at any sort of defense against it fail like they were not even considered).

In the reports and accounts I have read, there is also one other property which seems to hold a great deal of importance: that being how this cursed sword seems to be able to absorb spells “like a lightning rod”, as Mr Schweirze put it. This comparison was inspired by his observation of how spells aimed at, or around the blade, seemed to bend towards it. And indeed, after innumerous bolts of fire, lightning, non-elemental magical projectiles, manipulations of the space around the Object, contact with illusions, or truly, any sort of mana-powered effect, all were simply absorbed by the blade, regardless of the source of the spell. Ms Leviere even mentioned how it seemed to be impossible to maintain a ward around herself while simply wielding the blade.

Finally, I must also mention how both my assistants, at one point or another, accidentally touched the blade without proper protection. In these instances, both reported feeling extremely uncomfortable, hearing what they described as a whirlwind coming from inside the obsidian and felt like they were being watched by “something beyond”, as their hands and arms started to shiver with the sensation of an invisible hand or tendril trying to reach them. Luckily, both had the same instinct to withdraw their hands as soon as the sensation happened, much like an animal would retract its paws from a fire. I have read similar reports on the papers provided to me, and it seems to be something related to the soul corruption that it is said to be capable of. Something related to this “Ralektharum”, whatever it may be. Despite my notorious curiosity, their description and the state of shock I observed in them were sufficient to trigger my somewhat limited sense of self preservation. Or perhaps it was because it had an effect on their psyche that made me rethink my actions, for I understand my condition is already quite an unstable one. Since either me or my team are ill equipped and lack the proper knowledge and training to deal with soul-related effects, I would suggest you seek the expertise of our in-house Animancer. Although I must admit I am not fond of his presence given his fields of work are Necromancy and Animancy, both of which I utterly despise, I still acknowledge his competence and, as such, trust his methods (even if I do not agree with them).

I am going to conclude this letter with a personal recommendation. The Object, this sword, is vile beyond comprehension. It does not seem to acknowledge any sort of physical or magical boundary, rule or law. Its mere existence is an affront and an insult to the very core concepts that govern our world. As such, it is my obligation to recommend its total and absolute destruction. While I do not doubt the Darkwatch’s ability to keep said abomination from ever seeing the light of day again, I deem it necessary to go one step further to avoid any potential containment breach. Failing complete annihilation, I would suggest it to be flung towards the deepest and remotest points in space and/or time or for it to be sealed in a pocket dimension with all further access to it being severed, so that it can never be found again.

The Watch endures.

The following content may be disturbing to viewers;

<Child Abuse, Slavery, Violence, Death, etc>

​ Nekota checks her phone, a notification from Lucian, her dearest father.

​ [One new message - Location pin, "Stay calm"]

​ The dim glow of faded streetlights, the air moist from puddles of blood and water, mixing together draining away, sights all too familiar to her

​ Her ears and fur draw attention from all around the area, stares from the people. Her heart beats strong, as she grips a coat around herself tighter, pulling it taut over her ears

​ Rocks are thrown, but they hardly do anything as they bounce off of her. The girls pupils constrict under the dim glow of the street, as something twitches within her.

She carries on, as she walks closer, the sneers only get louder, as she hears the clinking of chains across the road. A young beastkin boy, sobbing, as a man leans over him, a bloodied bat in his hand- Nekota snaps her arm onto the mans, her sclera turning pitch black as her pupils glow a faint purple. The slaver throws a punch at her, but it does nothing but strengthen her grip, tightening...

*snap*

She tosses him to the side, shooting a deathly glare as she picks up the boy in her arms. He draws breath no longer.

*snap*

something within her breaks,

*snap*

the world crumbles, as copious amounts of mana spill out of her, flooding the streets, and​ for the first time, her spear tastes blood, real blood, not the wood or steel of a practice dummy

It glides so smoothly, so finely, as blood cakes the ground more

​ ...

​ words of fear and outrage follow suit, some people run away, others freeze in fear, but the majority treat it as they always do- like a normal occurrence, this is the 'nightlife' of the republic, the dirt riddled outskirts. her steps are unfailing, unrelenting, as she edges deeper and deeper into the terrain, her immaculate pearly white spear coated in blood as she spots more and more faces that she remembers from times past

​ As she finally steps down a flight of stairs, leading to rows of cages of beastkin, some old, some young, all abandoned. Left in their cages to rot and wilt as their captors flee, alerted by contacts about Nekota's approach. She spears them through the chest, and snaps open the locks on the cages, one by one, time given to her to think, as she slows her radiation of mana, her scars shooting pain through her body once more.

​ <What am I feeling? Triumphant? Disappointment? Anger?>

​ <fear?>

​ She frees more and more.

​ <I'll have to bring them back to the central...>

​ She snaps the last one, and her eyes meet the small girl in a cage, around her own age when she was sold off. Her frail body is riddled with fresh bruises and barely visible scars.

​ She doesn't move. Just as her heart doesn't beat.

​ <I'm too late.>

​ Tears start flowing down her eyes, her face still expressionless,

​ <If I was stronger. I would've saved her.>

<was killing them the right thing to do? could their souls have been redeemed? could I have talked them out of it? what am I doing, why?"

Her mind races to understand and rationalize the acts she has committed

​ <what is life,>

​ <what is death?>

​ She carries the cold body in her arms; rigor mortis settled in hours ago. She opens a hole in the ground through her will, influence over the republic she's gaining, placing the body in and mumbling a short prayer-

​ she cuts herself off. Who'd she even pray to? The amulet in her shirt cracked, but recognizable as she gently tears it off her neck, the gods she cried and begged... are the ones that Master says we fight and slay

Did they even listen? Do we even have a sliver of hope anymore if we can't trust that the ones that should aid us will aid us? Do the constellations listen? Or do the souls of everyone that lead a harder past listen?

or...

Does simply nobody listen?

​ She closes the hole, gathering the living and burying the rest of the fallen

​ ........

*Nekota sits alone in the underground basement, amongst the now empty cages...*

​ /uw so. darker than normal.

​ If you want to talk to Nekota, you can, she will be tired, confused, sad and anxious... if it wasn't obvious, she will cry.

*Upon the high rise spires of the Bronze Citadel the wind seemed earily calm, in a torrent of feathers and claws thousands of ravens were unleashed into the azure sky above each carrying letters to all corners of the realms.*

*Servants in a thousand different courts and councils read the following letter aloud*

With each new moon the power of the Wizard Council increases, forces beyond this material plane seek to establish their own form of control over its fair lands, the balance is shifting hard towards order and something must be done.

I Chicken, ruler of the Bronze Citadel officially reclaim my old title as Lord of Chaos from the elden days and proclaim my intent to seek the approval of the dark gods to ascend as the new Everchoosen.

I invite all who seek to oppose the rising power of the forces of order, especially the Wizard Council and the Thrakmoor to raise their banner alongside me.

A.B.U.S.E.

Who needs an axe to cut down trees

Damn thing wheezes like an old plague rat and somehow keeps unbanishing itself.

Hello my little lemons, I'm the Lemon Wizard, and in my journey to the Citrus Citadel, I accidentaly summoned a demon, so I started running, the bad thing is that I abandoned all my friends :( , but the good one is that I heard a wizard called u/Carbon_Sixx told me about a reward for defeat some bandits in Redbranch, how hard can it be?

PD: They kidnapped me, I tried to drown them filling the room with lemons, but the demon from before found me an exploded the building, I guess that counts like defeating the bandits.

Another PD: The reward was 500 gold. It wasn't worth it.

Last PD: How do I find my friends?

This dude is standing on my last nerve I swear to Gorthaxx. Want to know your future? Nah, he won't tell. Lost your portal keys? Good luck, he's not helping. Stub your toe? Dude just stands there nodding like "mmm yes, it was foretold".

Bro. Seriously. Lay off the pipeweed and pick up the damn orb. If he says "bless thee" right before I sneeze one more Gorthaxxdamn time i'm casting Rapid Unplanned Disassembly on his colon.